A new home
by Ava1279
Summary: Melanie hunt is a shadowhunter in London from an esteemed family of proud shadow hunters. She's expected to be a great shadow hunter. Fearless. Noble. Skilled. There's just one problem. Melanie doesn't want to be a shadowhunter. She dreams of being a mundane.


The May morning gave the air a tinge of melancholy as through the grey clouds came an even greyer light that ebbed the colour out of the most vibrant life. Melanie Hunt crouched on the steps of the London institute her knuckles clenched tightly, the toes of her bare feet curled up. She didn't want to be there. She felt herself looking back to better days before this talk of duty and honour. Before she was told that her life was planned for her. She traced the lines of her Shadowhunter runes across her skin sighing as she did, to her they felt like permanent scars marking her out as different. Chaining her to a certain life. She had always been told she'd been lucky to have angel blood. That she was to dedicate her life to a noble cause to protect the helpless world from demons. Two mundanes perused past the steps. To the left was a man in his early twenties blazing orange hair and crinkles at the corners of his mouth beginning to show. To the right a strawberry blonde woman with soft brown eyes looking up at the man serenely. Melanie watched them out of the corner of her eye taking note of their hands clutched together as if to make sure they couldn't lose each other to a sea of people. The man turned to the woman and blushed as he saw her staring and gently lifted their embracing hands up to his lips and kissed hers affectionately. Melanie flicked her eyes back down to the steps. Hugging herself tighter.

Dread started to expand in her stomach as she heard the faint tapping of heels on the polished hardwood floors in the institute. The door cracked open sharply. The woman was in her late 40s her face cut like glass into a haughty seal of austerity. Her silver hair was twisted into a simple but meticulous bun that would give many people a headache. Melanie assessed her cautiously noting her to be a rather unpleasant and self-righteous sort of woman that was sure to cause her some grief. Melanie angled one eyebrow up quizzically to meet the woman's narrowed eyes. "you will proceed to Mr Stormbroker's now. Follow me.", she sneered (Reminding Melanie of a werewolf at the Prophets tavern across town). Dutifully, Melanie followed the severe looking woman through the doors and into the institute. As she nervously hurried down the corridor to meet the lady's brisk pace she took in the blur of a new yet achingly familiar décor. One that she supposed hadn't changed in hundreds of years (much like the ways of the clave she thought bitterly). They hurtled to a stop outside a door, similar to most of them, only distinguished by a gaudy doorknob with an angelic face. For a few seconds Melanie studied it taking in its façade of superiority. Some days she wished there was no such thing as angels. Their blood made her feel more cursed than gifted. Abruptly she realised the woman was glaring at her reproachfully. "Daydreaming is a waste of everyone's time. Go straight in.", she snipped smartly. All Melanie could do was nod before she scuttled in. Taking in the room, all that Melanie could see was dark wood and dust, coating the room as if it wasa doorway to the past. She stood there rather awkwardly as the silence stretched out between her and the wrinkled elderly man behind the desk. There was no hint of a smile on his lips but somehow Melanie could see a warmth to his eyes that made her want to trust him.

Melanie grew more restless every second shuffling her feet to fill the silence with sound. _Maybe he'll never talk_, she thought. _Maybe he's reading my mind like a silent brother right now… maybe he lost his voice. Maybe..._ "Hello", said the old man gently. Oh. Maybe not, Melanie thought.

"Do you particularly object to shoes or was it a spontaneous decision to go barefoot today?", he jested a faint shine of amusement within his eyes. Melanie stood there a moment clenching and unclenching her hands as if floundering for something to say.

"sorry…er sir that is. I wasn't expecting…", Melanie trailed off uncertainly.

"yes well. I suppose you'll be wanting to get this over with so we'll get on with it then"

"yes. Yes, I think that would be better"

Melanie's cheeks were painted with pink spots as another doubtful moment passed.

"sir..", Melanie hinted "sir..i thought I was here to discuss the unfortunate _inciden_t in New York"

"Did you have something you wanted to say regarding it?", Mr Stormbroker offered.

It seemed a harmless question, but Melanie suspected every answer she gave was documented in his mind.

Melanie cleared her throat. "No sir. I'd prefer not to look back". She knew that was a foolish response. That the reason she was here was solely due to that, but Melanie had tried to put a mental block on everything that had happened. To her surprise he nodded.

"very well. I welcome you to the London institute. Your room is down the corridor then turn left and the left again and it's the first door"

"Right...", she muttered incredulously.

Melanie shuffled back into the hall stiffly and the door swung firmly shut behind her. Meanie was disappointed, somehow, she'd hoped for worse. This was not going to plan. Melanie sighed. She hated new beginnings. They were never the one she really wanted.


End file.
